The Alchemist Games
by AnEquivalentExchange
Summary: Hunger Games AU. Occasional edwin. Some minor character death. Obvi.
1. Chapter 1

**[A/N: okay this came about after a bunch of people over on tumblr started coming up with a hunger games fma au and i was asked by several people to try writing it so here it is! Thanks to everyone who helped brainstorm and everything! Enjoy! And review, follow, favorite, whatever if you'd like because I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks!]**

* * *

The morning sun hovered above the horizon, sending diagonal strips of orange light across the worn wooden floorboards and bathing the room in a muted gold hue. Outside insects were chirping with the coming of a new day, and inside Edward groaned, face buried in a pillow.

The last few wisps of sleep left him as it became apparent the bugs outside had no intention of stopping anytime soon. As Ed awoke, other sounds began to filter into his ears, breaking up the last of a dream that had already been made incoherent as reality took its hold once more. And when it came to Ed's attention that sleep was now out of his reach, his ears began to focus on the sounds that filled the rest of the house just outside his bedroom door.

There was the clattering of pots and pans, and the sizzle of the stove was just a whisper from downstairs. There was also the shuffling of feet; some soft patters while another was harsh, clanking and hollow. Ed heard conversation as well, though the words were too distant to sound like anything more than quiet muffles, but the tones of their voices were hushed and solemn.

That made sense, Ed thought with an internal groan. Today was the day of the Reaping.

Edward pushed himself up with protesting arms—one flesh and blood, one made of metal. It seemed Pinako had let him sleep in and he was the only one still left in bed. Ed wondered if he should take advantage of that fact and try to go back to sleep for a few hours, but he was certain he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep today even if he tried. Besides, they'd all have to get ready soon anyway, even if Ed wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers until the day passed.

Ed knew he'd have to face his family today eventually; he felt bad almost choosing sleep over them, knowing quietly in the back of his mind that today could damn well be the last time he ever saw any of them.

He shoved that thought quickly from his mind and propelled himself out of bed, hearing the distinct different between his metal foot and flesh foot as they touched the cool floor.

The voices grew louder as Ed opened his bedroom door and traipsed down the stairs, and they slowly quieted as Ed entered the kitchen. He received three good morning greetings from the room's other occupants as Ed walked in further with a tired grunt, heading straight for the stove, where breakfast was waiting.

The rich aroma was intoxicating. It smelt of home and Sunday mornings and almost made Ed believe that this was just the morning of some other special occasion, not the day the town would be sending two kids off to fight to the death.

Ed figured Al had done most of the cooking or at least helped. His brother had always been the better cook of the two and now that his body no longer required sleep or food, he had gotten even better at taking care of those around him, especially when it came to making breakfast before the rest of the house was even fully awake.

Ed's brother was sitting at the table now, his armor hunched and legs pulled tightly together as he tried to fit on the small chair. He was carrying on a conversation with Winry, who was sitting on the opposite end, picking at what was left of the rich food sitting on her plate, while Pinako stood at the sink, cleaning a dish with a grim, concentrating look on her wrinkled face.

As soon as Ed settled at the table, putting his plate down unceremoniously, Winry turned to him. She had her elbow resting on the table and she pointed her fork at him as she spoke. "As soon as you're done we have to do a tune-up on your automail."

Ed let out a disinterested moan. "Can't it wait?" The last thing he wanted to do was have his automail worked on so soon after waking up. Although tune-ups were nowhere near as dreadful as the actual automail installation surgery Ed had gone through when he was eleven, they were still enough to bring him discomfort for the rest of the day. Today of all days Ed could do without the extra burden.

"Just get it over with, you baby. Besides, you said your arm has been stiff lately, didn't you?"

Ed rolled his eyes, stuffing half a sausage in his mouth. "It's not that bad. We can do it later," he said around a mouthful of food.

It was Winry's turn to roll her eyes now. "We have to get ready for the Reaping, you idiot, we don't have time to do it later."

"By _later_ I meant like _tomorrow, _dummy."

"Don't call me a dummy! _You're_ the dummy, you alchemy freak!"

"At least I'm not a crazy grearh—"

"Stop fighting, you guys," Al spoke up quietly. The two blonds turned to look at him. "Not today…"

Winry sighed. "He's right." She stared down at the wooden table. "I just want to make sure your automail is alright in case…anything happens today…"

Ed found himself watching her now that his mechanic had averted her gaze. "Nothing's going to happen," he told her though even he found it hard to be convinced by his own words. Nothing _had _happened to them during all the other years of their Reapings but there was always a shadow of a doubt that this could be the year their luck ran up.

* * *

The tune-up left Ed achy as he knew it would, and the impending rain only made his body even more sore. He found his mood growing more sour as he, Al and the Rockbells filed into the town square with the rest of the Resembool townspeople. The Rockbells soon said their goodbyes and left to find their designated spots. Winry gave the brothers a warm smile as she walked away; Ed tried to pretend to not see the worried look in her eyes.

He and Al began walking through the crowd toward the section designated for the male tribute candidates. The section was further separated by age group, with those in their first year at the Reaping in front while the oldest were stationed near the back. "Let's just get this over with," Ed muttered as they came to Al's age group.

"Then we'll 'get back to what really matters,' right, Brother?" Al said with a ghost of a smile in his voice, quoting what Ed always said when something got in the way of the search to get their bodies back.

Ed gave his brother a genuine, sly smile. "'Course," he said, giving Al's arm a light punch. "Hell, maybe I can even get Winry to bake me one of her apple pies tonight. I think I earned it after that tune-up, huh?" He flexed his automail arm, which was hidden under his old dress shirt and his usual glove.

The mood between them sobered quickly as the last few citizens filed in. "I—I guess I should go now," Al said.

"See you later, Al…"

Al gave a stiff nod and shuffled into his spot.

Ed headed for his own section just as the spotlights on stage came to life. The town square buzzed with heat and excitement as the cameras and lights turned on, projecting the tiny backwater town to the outside world.

There were already three figures situated on the stage. Ed recognized them all immediately from attending past Reapings. There was the mayor, seated near the back of the stage. Beside him was a man with dark hair dressed in a pressed blue military uniform, and looking up at the overcast sky with a peevish look, as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Ed knew the man as Roy Mustang, commonly referred to as the Hero of Ishval because of his major role in the extermination of Ishval a few years back. Ed also knew had Resembool had a victor, they would be seated next to the man. But until then Mustang would be the mentor to the two unfortunate souls that were sent to the games. Why a war hero so accomplished as Mustang would ever take a job such as that, Ed had no idea.

Probably trying to climb his way to the top, Ed scoffed to himself with an eye roll. That's how all those military dogs were.

Standing in the center of the stage was Resembool's escort, a woman sent from Center every year to host the town's Reaping and sequentially guide the two chosen tributes through Central until their departure into the inevitable games.

Riza Hawkeye was back again this year to do the honors. Her long blonde hair was down, brushing against the back of her high neck dress, which matched the blue of the military uniforms. Probably some Central fashion trend, Ed guessed.

She stepped up to the podium, poised as ever, and began to speak in to the lone microphone situated on stage, greeting the town to yet another 'exciting year of the Alchemist Games."

As she spoke, Ed's mind began to wonder. It was the same droning speech every year, explaining the reason behind the Alchemist Games.

It all began when the country of Ishval had been annex by Amestris, near the eastern sector of the country. Tensions ran high as Amestrian soldiers were sent in to occupy the land. Then thirteen years ago, a soldier accidentally shot and killed an Ishvalan child. Riots and violent protests broke out immediately and soon developed into a full-on civil war. The fighting was violent; the Ishvalans were clearly outnumbered but they continued fighting, and soon the war had affected almost the entire eastern part of Amestris.

It wasn't until seven years of war had gone on that that the current president, King Bradley, issued Order 3066, which sent Amestrian state alchemist on to the battlefield to act as human weapons. Ishval didn't stand a chance against the alchemists and soon the war was brought to a bloody end.

Ed had never paid much attention to the conflict in its later years; he and Al had been too preoccupied with learning the secrets of human transmutation in order to bring their mother back to give the war any mind. He remembered when his town had been under attack, he recalled the day he read about Order 3066 in the newspaper, and he couldn't forget the day they had found out Winry's parents had been killed in the conflict.

Now Ed wished he had paid more attention. It was that conflict that brought about the Alchemist Games after the war ended. It was a warning, to the rest of the country, to what was left of the Ishvalans, to never try to fight back again. It was a way to show that the government still had control over its citizens; to strike fear into the people to make they would continue to behave.

"And now, to choose the male tribute," Hawkeye said on stage, pulling Ed from his musings and making him realize he had missed the mandatory salute to Amestris after the speech had come to a close.

Ed's eyes went to the two large glass spheres situated on stands as Riza Hawkeye walked over to the one on the left, reaching her hand in and procuring a slip of paper after a moment.

Ed's eyes focused on the slip in her hand; inside that crystal ball was his name, written on several sheets of paper; it was mandatory to have one slip added for every year a person was eligible. Ed knew he only had four slips of paper inside that glass container, the very minimum for someone his age, but he couldn't help the uneasy feeling that this might be the year one of those slips ended up in the escort's hand.

Some of the less fortunate had the opportunity to add their name additional times in exchange for food or other necessary provisions. He, Al and Winry had never had to do that thankfully; like Ed would ever allow his brother to ever add his name more times than necessary.

The Rockbells were fairly well off, and they cared for the Elrics well. Winry and Pinako ran an automail shop in their home, just as their family had done for generations. There was never a shortage of people coming to them for automail fittings after the war had come to an end and devastated the whole eastern side. In that aspect the war had actually helped them live.

As fifteen year olds, Ed and Winry were lucky to only have a few slips of paper each in those giant bowls; Al had even less. Honestly, Ed told himself, the chances were one in thousands that the name called would be his or Winry's or—

"Alphonse Elric."

* * *

There had been a moment on _that wretched day_ just after Ed had come back from the Portal, when he had found himself back on the floor of his father's study. In that moment Ed had seen in the dying glow of the failed transmutation Alphonse's clothes lying empty on the ground and Alphonse nowhere in sight. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds at most before Ed propelled himself into action and forced himself to think of a way out of it, but in that moment Ed had never felt so completely and utterly helpless.

He could feel himself being smothered by the feeling; almost like he was being drowned and just couldn't quite break through to the surface. Ed swore he would never let himself feel that way ever again as he forced himself to crawl on the floor toward that empty armor. He would never let Alphonse get away from him again.

But Ed could feel his grip on his brother slipping once again; he could feel himself beginning to drown in that all too familiar helplessness.

And that was enough. Ed slammed back into reality with a force hard enough to knock the wind out of him but he still had enough air in his lungs to shout out, "I volunteer!"

The words ripped from Edward's throat without a thought. It didn't even sound like his own voice. Someone was certainly shouting now; some crazy kid was trying to volunteer in a voice so desperate and stricken with fear. Surely a voice like that could never belong to someone as strong as Edward Elric.

But Ed continued to shout in a voice that definitely wasn't his own. That was his little brother they wanted and if they took Al, Ed would have nothing left, he would have no reason for anything.

"I volunteer as tribute!" he screamed again and again afraid they wouldn't hear his hopeless pleas and they would take Alphonse and then he would just be _gone_. "Take me! I volunteer!" Ed elbowed his way through the crowd, flesh handing waving in the air, trying to make sure he was seen, making sure Central _knew_ which brother to take.

Then another voice registered through his frantic mind; there was a hand on his elbow, another on his shoulder, and Ed crashed to a sudden halt. "Ed, stop—"

Ed whipped his head around to find whoever _dared_ to try and stop him from protecting Alphonse only to find Alphonse himself. Ed realized he must have made it past the section of fourteen year olds and had rushed right past his brother on his way up to the stage.

"Brother, don't. You're causing a scene."

Al's armor had never seemed so towering and imposing as he tried to restrain his brother. But even so, he couldn't help the slight tremor of his armor or the blatantly terrified shake in his otherwise steely voice. Ed turned on his brother suddenly. "I don't care! Let them look! They're not taking you and to hell with anyone who thinks they are!"

"_Ed!" _Alphonse looked up quickly. It seemed the entire town now had their eyes on the two peculiar brothers, watching as this new development unfolded at the Reaping. Certainly the cameras were on them as well. This was not the time or place to be spewing hate for Central or any of its citizens, which was something Edward always had a knack for doing, even before either of the Elrics became eligible to participate in the Alchemist Games.

Edward begrudgingly followed his brother's gaze. The entire crowd had fallen silent and all eyes were on them. Even the officials on stage were watching them with varying levels of curiosity.

Roy Mustang had leveled them an intense gaze that almost made Ed shudder. Riza Hawkeye's gaze was much milder as she stared, however her cocked eyebrow made it obvious she was just as curious, or maybe confused, as to what was going on before her.

"Do we have a volunteer?" she asked into the microphone after a beat of dreadfully tense silence.

Al was quick to speak. "No—"

Ed freed himself and pushed Al behind his outstretched arm, trying to protect his younger brother even if he barely came to Al's chest. "Yes." He shot Alphonse a warning look over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn't argue further before turning back to the podium and calmly proclaiming loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I volunteer as tribute."

There were a few hushed gasped throughout the crowd but Ed ignored them as he turned back to Alphonse.

"Brother…" he said much more quietly now. His voice was pleading but Ed could hear the resignation in his voice; he and Al both knew there was no changing Ed's mind now. If Al had possessed an actual body he would have been on the verge of tears now. "Brother, you can't—"

"It'll be okay, Al," Ed reassured. He tried to act nonchalant with a shrug and a slight smile. "I'd rather it be me than you. You need to get your body back. I know we always said we'd get them back together, but I'm sorry."

"Besides," Ed added after a pause. He bit as his lip before continuing. "There's no way you'd be able to go through with this without explaining what happened to your body. That might lead to more trouble than we can handle."

"_This_ is more than_ I_ can handle, Brother!"

Ed grimaced. "I'm sorry. We don't have a choice—"

"Yes, we do. Let me go instead. I-I might have a chance at winning. I can't let you go in my place, Brother…"

"Is one of you coming?" Riza Hawkeye asked from stage; her voice was booming in the silence that had fallen.

Alphonse jumped slightly.

"Yes," Edward answered loudly, trying to steel his voice. He lightly tapped his automail hand to his brother's chest plate. As the echo of the metal quietly died down Ed forced a smile. "I'll see you later, okay?" He turned but a hand caught his elbow.

"P-promise me you'll come back." Al's voice was soft, pleading but his tight grip left no room for Ed to argue.

Ed gave that soft smile he reserved only for his brother. "Sure, Al," he promised. Some of the tension left Al's shoulders. Ed was not one to ever break a promise, especially not one to Al. "You can't get rid of me this easily."

Ed gently disengaged from his brother's grip and began striding toward the awaiting stage.

Al made a quiet noise and Edward heard him take a hesitant step forward before quieting. It took all of Ed's willpower not to look back, but to keep his eyes ahead and keep moving forward.

On stage, Hawkeye cleared her throat. "Well," she began. "This is a new development. I believe this is our first ever volunteer from this region."

Ed's footfalls as he walked up the creaky wooden steps of the stage were the only noises that sounded throughout the square. At least the town had the good grace to not applaud. A boy being sent off to almost certain death in the name of protecting his only family in no way warranted acclamation of any kind. Ed was grateful for their silence, no matter how pressing it felt.

"And what is your name?" Hawkeye asked as he came to a stop next to her. There was something in her eyes as she watched him; pity or maybe dismay. It was a look he didn't expect from a Central citizen, someone who condoned these sorts of games.

Ed tried not to take note of the way Hawkeye lowered the microphone for him to speak. "E-Edward Elric."

Hawkeye took the mic back. "And I suppose that was your brother you volunteered for, the one in the armor, correct?"

Ed nodded, and there was that same sad look again as she spoke again. "Well, good luck, Edward."

Ed wasn't even listening; his eyes were scanning the still silent crowd. Most years there was a bit of forced applause, encouraged clapping as the citizens hoped maybe this year maybe one of their tributes would come back.

But something was different today, and Ed couldn't help but feel he had started it.

Sending two children to their death every year was unforgivable, but separating the Elric brothers like this was unheard of.

It was a small town and _everyone_ as least knew of the brothers. They had heard the rumors. How the boys' father had left almost ten years ago only to have their mother die not even a year later. The boys were very withdrawn from the rest of the townsfolk, except for the neighbors they stayed with. And around the time their house had burned down a few years back, the boys were rarely even seen by the prying eye of the public. The pity throughout the square was almost tangible to Ed, even up there under the burning spotlights on the stage.

Oh, and if they knew the whole story, Ed thought. If only they knew how many years he and Al had spent studying human transmutation in a desperate attempt to see their mother's smile once again. How the transmutation failed, causing Ed to lose a leg and Al his whole body. How Ed gave up an arm and only saved his brother's soul by putting him in that armor. Or how their house burning down had been no accident; but a symbol of their resolve, a promise to themselves that they wouldn't turn back until their bodies were restored. That house had felt haunted since the day the transmutation failed anyway.

Oh, if only they knew, he thought, there might just be a damn riot right there in the square. Hell, Ed would be at the head of that without a thought.

Seeing that the Reaping wasn't going quite as Central always intended, Hawkeye quickly spoke. "And now for the girls." Her hasty voice echoed loudly as she moved over to the other glass container and pulled out the first slip of paper her fingers contacted.

Ed barely had time to sweep his eyes over the crowd of girls, trying to find that familiar blonde head of hair, and hoping they had enough luck between them that Winry wouldn't be called.

But considering Ed's life so far maybe he didn't have any luck at all. Maybe he ran out of luck the moment he bound Al's soul to that armor or maybe it had left the day his father stepped out of their home for the last time.

Maybe some people were just destined to have hard lives.

Because now Hawkeye was at the microphone and the paper was unfolded and she read the name and the words that had always reminded Ed of safety and home and everything pure left in his life now only filled him with dread as they ran throughout the square and rang inside his head.

_Winry Rockbell. _


	2. Chapter 2

_No. _

Ed's eyes furiously scanned the square and immediately locked on Al—his armor was the easiest thing to spot amongst the crowd. Al's head was turned, his eyes having already found Winry. Ed's head swiveled, following Al's gaze to the female section where Winry stood among the other fifteen year olds, all of which had taken a step away from Winry as if she had sudden contracted the plague and looked at her like she was already dead.

_Anyone but her._

Ed quickly scanned the crowd, looking—hoping—for someone to volunteer. But no, that was a ridiculous notion—volunteering was the rash thing to do, Ed realized that now.

Winry was fairly far away, tucked into the middle of the crowd, but Ed could see her as she snapped out of some sort of trance, and she began making her way slowly but deliberately to the stage.

Winry climbed the stairs steadily, and spoke her name when asked with more strength than Ed had possessed.

She then took her place next to Ed as Riza Hawkeye spoke into the microphone once more. "Now, tributes, please shake hands."

The two teens turned and faced each other. Ed found it hard to look Winry in the eye now but he fought back the urge to actually look away. It was hard to know the girl that Ed had grown up with, the girl that had always been there no matter what, the girl that had gotten him back on his feet was now facing almost certain death, and there was little he could do about it.

The look on Winry's face now was one Ed had seen before. It was the look that had been on her young face the day those men in blue came to their house to announce her parents' death, and it was the same look she gave Ed when he woke up after the transmutation had failed; it was a look of utter hopelessness that Ed knew well, it was a look that said maybe this time things wouldn't get better.

It was a look that didn't belong on Winry Rockbell's face, but had been there far too many times. And just like all those times before, Ed felt he could do nothing but watch uselessly.

But still, Winry held a certain sort of deep, inner strength as she held out her hand, which was only noticeably shaking now that she was so close.

Ed took it firmly in his flesh hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as they shook.

Hawkeye gave a firm nod before turning back to the crowded square. "Happy Alchemist Games. And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

The crowd began to give an applause that was blatantly forced before the country's anthem drowned them out, and the two tributes were ushered off the stage before Edward even had time to catch his breath.

* * *

_"Brother!"_ The door was thrown open, and Ed was suddenly swept up in a tight embrace. Normally he would have been embarrassed or tried to nonchalantly shrug off the affection but this time Ed leaned into the cold metal of his brother's armor. He hugged his brother's middle tightly even if Al couldn't feel it; it brought a comfort to both of them. A string of apologies and excuses got stuck behind the lump that was forming in Ed's throat, so he stood with Al in a silence that lasted for an eternity but also seemed to end much too soon.

They only had four minutes to say their final goodbyes, and Al must have sensed their time was slowly running out because he drew away from Ed. Before Ed could say anything Al reeled back and punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow! Hey what was tha—"

"You're such an idiot! Why would you do something as stupid as volunteering?"

"Like I had a choice!" Ed spat back, rubbing his shoulder where a bruise was definitely forming. The punch wasn't as hard as some of the other ones Al had dealt over the years; his brother must've been taking pity on his circumstance. "I already told you, you still have a chance to get your body back."

The fight seemed to leave Alphonse suddenly, and Ed wondered if Al was even listening. He sat down heavily onto the couch, making the seat groan under the sudden weight of the armor. "This is so unfair," Al said, voicing what Ed had been thinking this entire time. The despair was clear in his voice.

Ed sat down quietly next to his brother, resting his elbows on his knees, and they sat in another sad silence for a moment. "I'm still not giving up, Al," Ed finally stated. "Neither is Winry. There's still a chance one of us might come home."

"I know! I know…but is it wrong to hope that somehow both of you will come home again?"

Ed looked down at the plush carpet underneath his uncomfortable dress shoes. "Not at all."

He could feel the time ticking by as they sat there not saying anything else. Ed felt he had to say something; he couldn't just leave Al feeling so ill at ease.

"Ah…" he tried, looking up at his brother's helmet. Ed cleared his throat of the sudden emotion welling up and tried again. "Al…you know, I'm going to do everything I can to keep both me and Winry alive…but if it comes down to it, I'm going to try to protect her first."

Alphonse remained silent but Ed saw him nod slightly in acknowledgement and his face stayed staring down at the floor.

Ed clenched the fist resting on his thigh; he heard the metal of his automail groan in protest. "But…if anything does happen to her, I'm going to do everything in my power to win."

"I know," Al whispered, his voice breaking on the second syllable. "You can do it, Brother. You know how to fight—you're the best alchemist I know. You have a chance…you have to at least try."

Ed rubbed at his temple. "I will," he promised. He realized that was probably the first promise he didn't intend to keep. Edward knew had circumstances been different, he would have fought tooth and nail to make it back home. But this was different; he had Winry to protect. Sure, Winry was strong-willed and clever, but she didn't know how to fight—not like Ed did. Ed felt it was his duty now to make sure she was the one to make it; he wasn't sure he'd be able to go back home and live with himself if anything happened to her. Ed had resigned himself to this already. Really, he knew he was dead from the moment they called her name.

* * *

The train platform was swarming with camera crews when Ed was brought to the station not much later in order to reunite with Winry and begin their journey to Central.

Ed was exhausted still from saying goodbye to his brother. He contemplated quickly using some alchemy to put up a wall between him and the prying eyes of the cameras but in the end rejected the brash idea. He didn't want to disappoint Al this early on.

Winry was on the other end of the platform. She was wearing a light blue dress that must have been her mother's; the skirt of it blew slightly in a passing wind. She looked dressed for a summer picnic or a night out, but her face gave away what was truly happening.

Her cheeks were marred with tear tracks from saying goodbye to her grandmother as well as Al, who had visited her after seeing his brother, just as Pinako had visited Ed. Even now Winry's eyes were still glassy though there was no threat of tears at the moment. She was frowning stoically, trying to put on a strong face now that the public was watching once more.

She and Ed were ushered quickly onto the awaiting Central train, and the doors shut firmly behind them. Their world was suddenly submerged into silence as the outside world was closed out; they were the only ones in the train car, though it seemed more like they were the only two left in the world.

Winry let out a suppressed and strangled breath. Ed looked at her sadly with a deep frown as she stared down at the floor and bit at her shaking lip; Ed knew he was trembling slightly from all the emotion the day had brought too.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, if not a bit uncomfortably.

Winry shook her head. "No," she admitted as fresh tears began to run down her pink cheeks. She brought her hands up to cover her face and began crying into them.

She didn't need to explain herself further; Ed understood even if he didn't say it. Not knowing what else to do—he had never been good at comforting people—he placed his left hand gently on the top her head, hoping it might bring some comfort. He touched his temple to hers, and they stayed that way for a long time. They stayed that way as the train took off and glided smoothly out of the station, leaving Resembool for the last time, and Ed hoped maybe Winry would understand that she wasn't alone.

* * *

Dinner was quiet and uncomfortable. Winry had finally stopped crying and she and Ed had gone to their separate quarters to freshen up and get their bearings before they were both called to the dining car to eat.

Ed noticed as he concernedly side-eyed her that her eyes were still rather red and bloodshot as she desolately picked at her food with a fork.

The dining car had been in a silence too stiff for Ed's liking as he ate. The food itself was delicious. Definitely the finest he had ever tasted. He wondered if every Central citizen ate like this every day. Well, he might as well milk those lucky bastards for all they were worth while he still could, he thought as he stuffed another forkful in his mouth.

Ed leaned over closer to Winry after a pause. "You know, this food is delicious, you should give it a try," he mumbled around his pasta.

Winry shrugged and looked up at him. "I'm not all that hungry right now, Ed."

Ed frowned. "You have to eat. Especially considering…"

She just shook her head. "Maybe later, okay?"

Ed settled back down in his seat glumly. He sat quietly after that, not caring to try to make conversation with any of the table's occupants, and instead opted to listen to his mentor and escort talk while they ate.

The two seemed to know each other well, probably from spending so much time together with other tributes over the past few years. As the first course was set down at the table by silent servants, Mustang had turned to Riza Hawkeye. He cleared his throat quietly as if to make sure she was aware of his presence then cautiously asked, "So, how have you been?"

Hawkeye gave a small smile, the features of her face softening as she looked up at him. "I'm alright. What about yourself?"

Mustang chuckled lightly. "Can't complain," he shrugged, eyebrows raised.

They carried on a conversation for the rest of the meal; the dialogue was amiable but also restrained. They remained on topics like happenings in Central, new laws being put into effect, never anything too personal. Though it made sense; Ed had a good feeling there was cameras situated all throughout this train so Central could keep an eye on their tributes.

As dessert was being served—some sort of chocolate raspberry torte—Ed was growing tired of the uninteresting conversation and was growing sleepy as the food settled in his stomach. He took a stab at his dessert even though he knew he couldn't eat another bite.

He waved his torte covered fork in the air for a moment then leaned his elbows on the table. He gave Roy a pointed look as there was a lull in the adults' conversation, then asked, "So you're our mentor, right? Shouldn't you be giving us advice or something now?"

Mustang looked at Ed as if he had forgotten he was there, or was maybe trying to forget. He frowned deeply like he was finally remembering the real reason they were there. Mustang's gaze grew serious and it seemed to Ed that he was looking at him with pity, or hopelessness, as if he saw in Ed all the other tributes he had mentored over the years that had never made it back out.

Ed expected the man to say something helpful after that. This wasn't Mustang's first year; he knew what Ed and Winry would have to do to ensure one of their survivals. Mustang was a war hero too; surely he knew how to win.

But the man blinked after a second and the serious look left his eyes. "Well, here's some advice that seemed to help all the other victors," he said with an ironic smile, tipping his half empty glass up to Ed, "don't die."

* * *

**[A/N: This chapter's a lot shorter than the first one, though I think I like this length better, especially since there were quite a few different scene and I think making it longer would just get a bit over-whelming, you know?**

**Also I was eating a chocolate raspberry torte when I wrote that part lol**

**Hope you all enjoyed and see you next chapter!]**


	3. Chapter 3

Edward was alert the moment he awoke; it wasn't the wisps of an already fading nightmare that sent him into sudden consciousness nor was it the soft rocking of the floor that vibrated his bed and reminded Ed that he was not home. After a moment Ed recalled that there had been a knock at the door, and a call of "Edward?" shortly followed. "It's time for breakfast," said the voice, which, after a moment of assessment, Ed decided belonged to Riza Hawkeye.

He grunted out a sleepy reply into his pillow. She must have left after a moment because there was silence once more, only disturbed by the clacking of the train's wheels rolling across the tracks. Ed pushed himself up, quickly stretching his stiff limbs before throwing on clothes from his compartment's dresser, and lazily braiding his hair back before shuffling out his door and down to the dining car.

Food sounded good.

The rest of his companions were already seated around the table by the time Ed arrived, unceremoniously plopping down in the chair next to Winry. The air in the room was thick, smelling distinctly of something sweet and sticky.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Roy Mustang noted with a wry smile and barely a glance in Ed's direction.

The deep mahogany table was decorated with shining silverware, clean white plates and crisp napkins. The center was dominated by a woven basket piled high with a mountain of fresh fruit, and surrounding it were platters covered with almost every breakfast food Edward could name and several he couldn't.

"Wish I could say the same about you," Ed muttered, copying the man's aloof gaze.

The main portion was set down as soon as Edward situated himself. A plump sweet roll drizzled with glazed strawberries and some sort of thick icing, which attributed to the sweet smell warming the air of the compartment.

Roy Mustang's face fell as he glared at Ed through the arms of the server's placing down their food. His frown was pointed, his brow drawn in. "Are you always so brazen with people you've just met? You do know I am your lifeline once you enter those games. Might do you some good to try being nice to me."

Winry lightly slapped Ed on the shoulder. "He's right, Ed," she chided.

To Ed's slight annoyance, it seemed Winry's usual verve had returned. Though there was something off about her, something simmering just under her exterior. Like a tiger crouched, waiting to attack; like she wouldn't trust anyone knowing her ultimate destination would end at the games, and she was on guard now that they were out of familiar territory.

At that thought, Edward's eyes flickered to the window that took up most of the opposite wall. Sure enough, all traces of farmland or anything familiar were long gone, replaced by a blur of green as they passed through a thick grove of trees. Central couldn't be that far off by now.

Winry turned to Roy then, looking up expectantly and asked, "So you're our mentor. What does that mean?"

Mustang leveled her a calculated look, seriously contemplating the answer before he began in his deep voice. "I'm the one assigned to prepare you both for the games. I'll be with you every step of the way during your training and be there to give you advice. Once you two are in the games, it is my responsibility to help get you sponsors that will help with your survival. In short, it is my duty to ensure one of you wins."

"And you did so well with that in the past years," Edward muttered before stuffing half the sweet roll in his mouth.

Mustang's eyebrow twitched as he glanced at the boy, his frown somehow deepening further. "Oh, what's this? Did I actually get a fighter for a tribute this year?" The guarded look was suddenly gone, replaced with a look of superiority, Mustang's eyebrows raising and eyelids flickering shut. The mentor smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I wouldn't have guessed that considering your small stature."

Edward was up in an instant, yelling in the man's face as he leaned over the table.

Riza Hawkeye suddenly made her quiet presence known, throwing Ed a sharp gaze and moving to protect Mustang from the raging boy. Before she could do anything, the initial look of shock upon Roy's face hardened into a look of grim curiosity.

"You have automail?" he asked in a calm voice, cutting right through Edward's shouting.

Ed halted, stuttering to a stop. His face flushed slightly, as if remembering himself, and he unconsciously raised his left hand to grip his right bicep. He had forgotten his gloves on his bedside table; though it wasn't like he could hide the truth from these people forever. He straightened up slightly. "Uh-yeah." He hesitated for a moment. "It happened during the Eastern Rebellion…" Ed glanced over at Winry, who was grimly looking down at her plate as he told the lie.

Mustang stared at him for an uncomfortably long second, scrutinizing Ed's face and automail hand, which peeked out under his long-sleeved shirt. "So that got you too, huh, kid?" He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes after a moment. "Sit down, Edward, I didn't mean to get you all riled up. We need to talk about strategies."

Ed felt down and took a seat, his eyes never straying from his mentor.

Mustang opened his eyes after a moment, and studied Ed and Winry. Hawkeye watched him curiously as he made his assessment. "Do either of you have any special skills?"

"Ed's an alchemist," Winry was quick to say, waving a finger matter-of-factly at Ed.

Mustang's eyebrows rose beneath his untidy black hair. "Really?" he said, sounding impressed.

Ed turned on Winry. "You're not supposed to talk about _my_ skills."

"Well, what skills do I have to talk about?" she shot back with a hint of desperation. "I'm not going to be throwing wrenches at the other tributes!"

"Well, why not? You do it to me all the time—"

"So you're not an alchemist?" Mustang turned to Winry.

"No, I—"

"She's not," Ed answered at the same time. He spoke up again, not realizing the anger that seemed to have been simmering in his gut. "Winry shouldn't even have to be here. These are the _Alchemist_ Games, right? It's not fair pinning ordinary people against alchemists like this."

"Not all the tributes are alchemists," Winry noted.

"She's right. The games were named that to honor the state alchemists who helped during the Ishval conflict, the event that caused these games to happen," Mustang added, voice reserved. He turned to Winry once again. "Can you do anything that might help you during the games?"

"She's strong," Ed answered, taking the chance just as Winry had with him. "And she's good with machines."

Winry nodded shyly at the praise. "I'm Ed's mechanic."

"You're his automail engineer? So you two are fairly close, huh?" Mustang glanced between the two as they meekly nodded, blushing slightly as they looked at each other with twin frowns. Roy Mustang smiled as though he didn't see their dispositions. His knowing smirk had returned as he leaned back in his chair. "That's something we might be able to work with."

* * *

Central was a vast city located directly in the center of the country. The blocky, white buildings were large and grandiose, reaching farther into the sky than any of the squat, old buildings in Resembool.

At least, that's how they seemed from the view Edward had as he stared out the picture window to the city below him, arms crossed over his bare chest.

The street below was speckled with Central citizens laughing and drinking and rejoicing in other festivities. It seemed the entire city was out celebrating the arrival of this year's tributes. At least, it had seemed like the entire city was out there from what Ed had seen between the time departing from the train and being ushered into the Remake Center where he now resided.

Once inside Ed had been stripped of his clothes and thrust into an awaiting bath. His skin still felt pink and raw from scrubbing off "all the country air," and his hair smelt like a bouquet of flowers as it rested in a silky, shining golden curtain over his shoulders. Apparently the three assigned to help him during this process had wanted Ed to be spotless for when he met his stylist.

His prep team had positively gone crazy once they caught sight of his metal arm and leg, saying how excited Ed's stylist would be to see his limbs. Apparently automail was a rare sight to those living in Central; the citizens hadn't been affected the way the East had been during the Ishvalan War. There was less of a reason for automail in this city than there was back home. Ed tried to think of another tribute from the past games who had sported automail but came up with nothing as his prep team made their final comments before finally leaving Ed alone in his boxers while he waited to meet his stylist.

He had still been staring down at the troves of people partying in the streets, musing about how Al would chide him for standing in front of a window with barely any clothes on, when the door gently opened then closed once again.

Ed glanced up and turned to the door to find a young woman standing there with her hands on her hips, a lopsided grin on her face and an eager look in her eyes. "You must be Edward," she stated, looking at him like he was her next challenge to tackle. She seemed to be fairly young to be working at such a desired position. She wore a tank top that hugged her thin, muscular frame and baggy pants tied at the waste. Her skin was dark and her hair was pulled back away from her face.

"You must be my stylist," Ed said with a touch of cynicism in his voice. Although this young woman wasn't at all what Edward had been excepting when he had first been briefed on receiving his own personal stylist. He was expecting a Central citizen, poised and snobbish, looking down on him either for being born in an outlying town, or because he was nothing more than a pawn in their games. Surely, the stylists were only here to make the tributes look pretty before sending them off to be slaughtered.

The girl nodded firmly and closed the distance between them. "Nice automail," she remarked, folding her bare arms over her chest.

Ed's hand went up to touch the cold exterior of his right arm, suddenly over aware of how barely clad he was. "That's what everyone here keeps telling me."

"Don't pay any attention to them," she said, carelessly flopping back down on a nearby couch and inviting Ed to do the same. "They're just not used to seeing automail around these parts," she explained knowingly.

Ed sat on the edge of a plush chair. "And you have?" he asked, noting her tone.

"Glad you asked," she smirked. Falling back against the couch's back she lifted her legs up, wedging her boots onto the coffee table's edge, and pulled up her pants legs to reveal shining silver where brown skin should have been. "We're not so different, huh, Ed?" she said wryly, eyeing the look of surprise upon the boy's face. "Name's Paninya by the way."

Edward blinked, then looked up at his stylist's face. "But I didn't think automail was common in Central."

"It's not really," Paninya said with a shrug, leaning her elbows against her knees. "Though I'm not from around here."

"You're not?"

"I'm originally from Rush Valley," she explained. The holy land of automail, as it was called. Ed only knew about it from Winry, who fawned over the town from afar and always talked about how she dreamed of going there if only people were allowed to travel outside of their own towns. "Took a lot of but I was finally able to sneak my way into Central. Got a job and was able to work my way up. People working for the games don't seem to stick around for very long so I guess I was pretty lucky. It's only my first year doing this though. But hopefully soon I'll be getting paid well enough and Mr. Dominic will _finally_ let me pay what I owe him."

"He's my mechanic," she elaborated when Ed gave her a quizzical look. "But enough about me," she stated, pushing herself up. "The opening ceremonies are tonight. We need to get you ready."

"Do you have anything in mind?" Ed asked from his seat. Though he wasn't fond of the idea of being paraded around for the people who were sending him to his death, Ed had to admit he was growing curious, especially now, knowing his stylist.

Paninya turned to him with a grin. "I and my partner Garfiel, who's with the other tribute from your town, have come up with a few ideas. Seeing as we both have an interest in automail, we decided that would be the best way to go. Lucky for us, now we're got you as a tribute."

"Yeah, lucky me," Ed muttered with an eye roll, though he couldn't help a small smile from his face. He could only imagine Winry's reaction would be.

* * *

The roar of the awaiting crowd was booming overhead. Their cheers sounded like thunder, and made the walls tremble and the air bubble with excitement. The screams and shouts were loud but muffled from where Ed stood in the vast basement where all the tributes and their chariots were waiting for the ceremonies to begin. Everyone stood at their respective chariots, which were all equally far away from each other. Even the tributes from the same towns seemed to be having difficulty conversing with one another.

The thunderous applause and cheering was drowned out by a high-pitched wail of glee. Ed turned around to find the source of the shriek to see Winry running over to him. The others turned to watch as Winry passed Edward, hands rubbing against the metal edge of their chariot.

"Edward!" she squeaked, finally turning to face him. "Look at this workmanship!" Her fingers trailed over the glistening silver of the sides, the ornaments decorating the outside and the bolts that held it all together. Her voice grew higher and her words quicker. "Such detail. The precision put into the measurements and the outer casing—is that a zinc based. _Ooh _if only I had my wrench I would love to take it apart!"

"Fraid you can't do that."

Ed and Winry both turned to find their stylists approaching. Winry let out another small squeal, taking Paninya by the hands. "You must be Ed's stylist," she said, her voice not losing an ounce of its former enthusiasm. "Mr. Garfiel told me all about you and how it was your idea to use automail as our theme and is it _true_ you have _two_ automail legs?"

"Uh," Paninya chuckled awkwardly, trying to pull her hands back.

She was interrupted from explaining further as a voice boomed overhead, telling the tributes to prepare to exit.

Ed stepped up first onto the three-sided chariot and offered his hand out to Winry as she eagerly stepped in as well.

Winry began to say something else but her voice was drowned out by the anthem, which was suddenly blasted through hidden speakers. The doors to the vast room opened inward and evening light filtered in. The first chariot took off, shortly followed by the next.

The crowd just outside exploded with a chorus of cheers as the first chariot made its way up the short ramp and entered under the eyes of the Central citizens.

Ed and Winry both faltered backwards as their chariot began forward, pulled by a row of large stallions. Winry grabbed onto Ed's hand to steady herself.

"Sorry," she said after a moment, her voice barely audible with the crowd approaching.

Ed didn't answer because suddenly the light was in his eyes. He blinked up into the setting sun and once his vision finally cleared, all he could see were the faces of thousands of cheering fans, all applauding at his entrance. They were shouting his and Winry's names. _They actually knew his name. _

The tributes were being showered with flowers and confetti and Edward watched as they glided forward on their silver chariot and flower pedals rained down around him. It was almost surreal.

Somewhere above an announcer gushed over this year's tributes, going into detail about each one as they all passed, making their way to the fuhrer's estate. Each chariot stopped one after another before the estate, where Fuhrer Bradley stood, poised and stoic as ever, on a stage for the whole world to see.

Their chariot finally came to a jerky stop. Now that the cheering had died down and the initial galore was gone and the sun had finally set behind the buildings of Central, Ed realized Winry was still clutching onto his automail hand, which was hidden at the moment by a thick glove.

When Ed had inquired about why he would hide his automail, his stylist had just given him a mischievous smirk and told him he had to wait for the right opportunity, and the opening ceremonies wasn't it.

Ed hadn't argued further; he had no interest in showing off his metal limbs on a regular basis, showing them off to the world was something he didn't mind putting off, no matter how inevitable it was.

He glanced at Winry, whose blue eyes were focused as King Bradley began to make his speech, welcoming the tributes and commemorating them on their bravery. She was dressed in an outfit similar to Ed's own.

They were both suited in shining silver armor. Alphonse had come to Ed's mind the moment he had first seen the outfit, and even now as he looked at Winry in the darkening light of the evening sky. Ed wondered briefly what his brother would think of all this.

The matching gauntlets and boots they wore mimicked the look of automail limbs. Ed realized in the setting sun their polished costumes must have looked dazzling. No wonder the crowd was roaring.

Winry wore a silver skirt as well with a silver cape that matched Ed's flowing down to her boots, which looked striking against her pale skin and her light hair trailing down her back. She looked, for all the world, like a gladiator. Like she was ready for battle and prepared to fight.

* * *

**[A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! Hope the somewhat longer chapter made up for it a bit ^v^**

**Also Paninya and Garfiel as stylists, yay or nay? I changed my mind about the stylists _a lot_. Personally I like what I decided since Ed's automail will have a fairly big part in the story the way Katniss' "flames" did, so I figured the guys from Rush Valley would work well, even if Paninya isn't actually a mechanic.**

**A few other things I would love to have you guys' input on: should I include the Avoxes? More so, would you guys be devastated if I left them out? I would love to incorporate them since I found them fascinating in the book, but I'm having trouble coming up with a reason for the Avoxes, how they would impact the plot and just _who_ would be the Avoxes, ya know?**

**Secondly, what do you guys think, should Winry join the "Career" tributes at the start of the games the way Peeta did? I wasn't planning to, but I didn't know if you guys were looking forward to that since it happened in the real Hunger Games haha **

**So if you would like to state your opinion on these matters, or if there's something else about the story have an idea for, you can leave it in a review or send me an ask on tumblr**

**See ya next chapter!]**


	4. Chapter 4

The Training Center was the tallest building in the city of Central. Each pair of tributes, along with their teams, were assigned their own designated floor, where they would all be staying until the the Alchemist Games began.

After spending almost an hour struggling to figure out the controls of the shower in his personal quarters, Edward emerged to find breakfast already laid out on a variety of tables in his floor's dining area.

Roy Mustang and Winry were already seated, speaking amicably but with focus as they ate. After piling his plate with a heavy amount of caloric foods, Edward seated himself, and Mustang spent no time getting down to business.

His tone was different now as he leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on interlocked fingers. It was lighter, more inviting, but even so, there was a sort of seriousness to it that hadn't been present before. Almost as if Ed and Winry's shining debut at the opening ceremonies had proven to Roy he should take them both more seriously. Maybe he was finally believing for once that one of his tributes actually had a chance at winning, and he was investing in them now instead of training them in vain, hopelessly knowing they would most likely die just like all the others.

It had to be hard being a mentor. Year after year a new pair of tributes came along, and after training and working with them you could do nothing but watch them be slaughtered, believing you could have done something to advise them better. No wonder Mustang had been rather cold to them at first. Why get attached to someone you knew was going to die?

The thought was shaken from Edward's mind as Mustang spoke. "Today begins your three days of training before the start of the Games." He went on to describe what they would find in the training facility below the Center. The stations set up in the room ranged from plant identifying to fire starting and shelter building, to combat training such as spear or knife throwing, axe wielding and even beginner's alchemy. "At the end of the three days, you will show off your skills in front of the Gamemakers and from there you will each be given a score assessing what you are capable of. Miss Hawkeye is down in the city now, attempting to get you both some potential sponsors. But no one will be placing their bets until your personal scores are announced. So try your hardest in there."

"Additionally, I don't want either of you showing off whatever skills you do have during the next three days. There's no point in showing off your strengths to your opponents—save that for when you're being scored. In the meantime, try some new things. It would benefit you both to learn some more survival tips before going into the Games."

Ed and Winry both gave an affirmative nod.

Mustang turned slightly. He leaned his elbow against the table and side-eyed both his tributes. "While you are down there training, I want you two at each other's side at all times." He continued, "You two obviously know each other well—the citizens of Central will eat that up when they realize how tragic your situation is. I want you to play that up for all it's worth."

Ed scoffed loudly with an eye roll. He couldn't help but feel he would be exploiting his friendship with Winry and their long history just so the people of Central could gush over them. The thought of that sickened him, even if in the end it could save Winry's, or his, life. As Edward slumped lower into his chair, Winry spoke up. "So you don't want us to talk to any of the other tributes? Wouldn't it be good to form some friendships before the Games so we'll have less enemies?"

Mustang shrugged nonchalantly. "Trust me, no friendship lasts forever in the Games."

Winry glanced over at Edward, who was still staring glumly at the grain of the wooden table.

"When it comes down to it," Mustang said, "alliances with other tributes won't make a difference in those Games. In the end, there is still only one victor."

* * *

All twenty four tributes were briefed on what the Training Center had to offer. The instructor motioned around the room, pointing out each available station, and described what was to be expected of all the tributes throughout the next three days of training.

Ed barely heard anything the woman said; he was much too busy surveying the circle of tributes that stretched out around him and sizing up each adolescent. The other tributes seemed to have the same idea, and Ed caught more than one tribute's gaze; he stared back defiantly, silently challenging anyone that wanted to take him on while Winry stood next to him and avoided the gazes, trying not to make any enemies this early on. She kept her head high though and her chin squared with her eyes focused on the instructor while also trying to ignore the distracting stares of her opponents.

Almost all of the other tributes were taller than Ed. They were larger, some were more muscular. But Ed wasn't concerned. He was agile. He was nimble. His size could be useful as well. Ed was strong; he and Al spent much of their free time sparring in an attempt to train their bodies as much as their minds. Edward was not concerned about fighting any of these kids in hand-to-hand if it came to that.

Once the instructor concluded and sent the tributes on their way, Ed and Winry broke away from the dispersing group and began to move around the vast room, walking between the stations scattered throughout until they found one of interest.

The shelter building station had been easy for Ed—he knew he would have no trouble using his alchemy in order to form some sort of protection from the elements. Winry caught on quickly as well, using her skills as a mechanic to figure out how to fasten branches and other materials to form a shelter.

The poisonous plants station didn't go as smoothly. Neither Ed nor Winry knew any of the plants listed before them, any of which could possibly be in the arena. Had they been in the Games right then, they both would have ended up poisoned and dead. But the station proved to be very informative.

Starting a fire had also proved to be difficult, and was only possible when both Ed and Winry teamed up and were able to start a fire with the help of one another.

"I'm thinking now that jerk mentor of ours might be useful in the Games," Ed commented with a wry smile as he looked down at the small fire they had created on a pile of the small twigs available.

Winry looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"He was known as the Flame Alchemist during Ishval," Ed explained. "I'm just saying he might not be totally useless in the Games, at least when it came to making a fire."

"Oh, yeah, you're right," Winry mused, tapping her chin.

Wordlessly, they looked out across the rest of the training area. Tributes were scattered throughout the room, occupied by the many stations available. It seemed many were throwing weights or wielding weapons in an attempt to intimidate the opposition. However there were also many looking to learn survival techniques just as Ed and Winry were.

Ed noted that almost none of them had remained with their fellow tribute like he and Winry had; most of them were alone. Apparently having similar roots only went so far with these people. Just because they were from the same town wouldn't mean anything to most of the tributes here, and it definitely wouldn't mean anything once the Games began. Ed was just beginning to realize now how peculiar his and Winry's situation was from the rest of the Games' contenders.

* * *

It was on the second day when the two had blown through a good chunk of the stations together that they stumbled upon the knife-wielding station, and Ed got an idea.

"Hey." He grabbed Winry's elbow and pulled her to a stop as she almost walked right past it. "I think we should try this one out."

Winry paused, surveying the displayed weapons and the targets pinned up against the adjacent wall. Her mouth turned down and her eyebrows knit. "You want to learn how to throw knives?"

Ed shrugged. _"I_ don't want to. I think _you _should."

Winry reeled back slightly. "Me? And why do you think that?" she asked, sounding almost appalled at the thought.

"You can throw wrenches. With accuracy might I add," Ed said with a pout. "How different could a knife be? It might save your life in the Games."

Winry looked hesitant for a moment. She bit at her lip before sighing with defeat. "I suppose you're right, Ed," she said, stepping up to the station and taking one of the small, slender blades into her hands.

"Here, I'll do it with you," Ed offered, grabbing a matching knife.

Winry didn't seem to hear him though. She stood still, her back facing him, and her eyes were already focused on the target several yards away. Ed watched all the tension release from Winry's shoulders. Then she gripped the tip of the knife in her hand, lifted it high above her head and threw straight ahead with a force of strength Ed had grown to know well from years of having wrenches thrown in his direction.

There was a loud clap as the knife connected with the target. It dug right into the near center of the bull's-eye, embedded several centimeters into the wall.

As Ed walked up to her, he could see the shocked look across her face, almost as if she couldn't believe it. "I did it!" she said after a moment. Her expression turned from one of amazement to pride in the blink of any eye. Deviously, she looked at Ed with a smile and crossed her arms. "Guess I found my special skill."

* * *

The third day of training was cut short as the tributes were called one by one to display their skills to the Gamemakers. Several tributes had already been called by the time Ed's turn came around.

"Ed," Winry called as he got up and began to exit the waiting area.

Ed turned at the doorway. "What?"

"Go show those Gamemakers what you're made of." Winry smiled brightly like she hadn't in days. "Good luck."

Ed couldn't help but smile back. "You too, Winry."

Ed strode across the long length of the room until he stood before a raised balcony where several Gamemakers sat waiting.

Ed stood before them for a moment, shoulders square, and took them all in as they did the same to him. He watched, not even trying to hide the look of contempt that must have been on his face. These were the people that would make his life a living hell once he enter those Games. They were the ones pulling all the strings, making his struggle for survival into a spectacle for the rest of the country to witness.

"Edward Elric," he stated clearly, secretly proud of how strong his voice sounded.

A few of the Gamemakers nodded encouragingly; several weren't even looking his way, but instead were conversing with each other over drinks.

There were all sorts of weapons laid out before him. There were several that he recognized, some he had even learned how to use over the past few days, and many he could only guess at what their functions were. There were targets set up at various distances, weights, drawing chalk for transmutations and numerous other tools and objects laid out for Ed to use.

But Ed didn't so much as bat an eye at any of them, and he knelt down on the floor instead, ignoring the past three days of training. Alchemy would always be his special skill; no weapon could match his alchemic abilities.

Without further ado, Ed clapped his hands together with a satisfying sound and pressed them against the smooth, cold floor.

The blue light of the alchemic reaction flared up immediately, and Ed felt the thrill of the transmutation shoot through his body. He didn't realize how much he had missed the electrifying sensation or the feel of the ground shifting under his palms.

An object began to emerge from the dip forming in the ground. It was a sword crafted from Ed's alchemy. Skulls and wings decorated its base as Ed pushed the transmutation further. Soon a long blade was formed at the end, and Edward finally pulled its tip from the floor. He stood and brandished it in a fighting stance to the Gamemakers before him.

Ed realized they all must have gasped at his transmutation if their faces now were anything to go by. None of them spoke but instead stared down at the boy below or at the dent now in the floor.

Ed smiled, knowing he had them all watching raptly now.

"That's not all," he proclaimed. Before he could even think of what he was doing, Ed threw the sword aside with a clatter and clapped his hands together once again. Disregarding what Paninya had said before about keeping his automail hidden for the time being, Ed clapped his left hand against his right forehand. A thick blade erupted from under his sleeve, ripping his right glove to shreds that fluttered to the ground near the disregarded sword.

Ed held the shining blade up to show the Gamemakers, who were looking at him in even more disbelief than before.

All was silent for several moments with the Gamemakers all staring down at Ed with varying expressions from shock to dread to utter fascination. Ed decided then that he would most definitely be getting the highest score out of all the tributes. Just look at their faces!

_I bet they've never seen anything like this before,_ Ed thought smugly as he smirked up at them.

The silence was finally broken as a hardy laugh erupted from the Gamemaker seated at the center. Ed's smile faltered slightly.

The man laughing was dressed in nearly all white, and the dark ponytail that trailed down his back was a stark contrast to his pale clothing and skin.

Ed was able to identify the man almost immediately as he squinted up at him. He remembered the few stories he had been told of the Ishvalan War, and knew this man had played a very large part in it. He had been a state alchemy, just as Mustang had been, but unlike Mustang, this man gave Edward an unsettling feeling in his stomach just from observing him.

The Head Gamemaker, Solf J. Kimblee—that was the man's name—stifled his laughter after a moment and looked down at Edward, making him feel smaller than he'd be willing to admit. "My, what's this? You can transmute without a matrix?" he exclaimed in his rough voice. His lips parted into a smile that somehow seemed sinister. "Oh, how fascinating!" Kimblee jumped out of his seat and slammed his palms down on the balcony's edge, leaning far over to look at Edward as he stood there. He beginning to feel uncomfortable under the man's scrutinizing gaze. "How lucky we are to have such a talented alchemist with us this year! I looked forward to seeing you use that alchemy in the arena." Another harsh laugh slipped past his lips. "Well done, Edward Elric! You are now dismissed."

Unsure of what to do, Edward gave a quick bow and immediately turned to leave, trying to shake off the bad feeling.

As he shut the door on his way out he heard Kimblee turn to the rest of the Gamemakers and shout excitedly, "I have a feeling these Games are going to be like no other!"

* * *

Central was a vast city as old as Amestris itself. The streets were easy to navigate to one who knew them well, but even the most well-versed Central citizen had no idea how far down the city went. Not many were aware of Central's secrets. Citizens went about their happy lives with no knowledge of the twisting, turning passageways just below the city's surface. They were completely, blissfully oblivious of how deep the tunnels went, and that far, far below the ground there lived the creatures who had created it all.

The vast lair tucked far below the city of Central was dimly lit. The candles that gave off light were placed far and wide, throwing eerie shadows across the walls and giving the cavern a chilling feel that would scare off any if they somehow made it past all the chimeras guarding the underground tunnels.

"What do you mean he opened the Portal?" The shout echoed against the cavernous walls.

"That is what Kimblee has explained to me. Apparently the boy can just easily clap his hands and transmute. There's no other way around it, he has seen the Truth and he survived." Fuhrer King Bradley stood stoically with his hands behind his back. His voice was gravely serious but his tone was still calm as he answered Envy's question.

"So he's a perfect candidate for sacrifice, isn't he?" Lust spoke up. She stood lazily off to the side, her hip resting against a pipe that jutted up from the ground and disappeared into the wall.

"It would appear so."

"So what are we supposed to do?" she inquired. "We just let a valuable sacrifice like him die."

"And what do you suppose we do?" Envy turned to her. "He's going into the Games soon! We can't just pull him out now, the rest of the country would be in an uproar if we allowed one of the tributes to be spared!"

"We will send the boy to the Games just as planned." The homunculi paused and turned toward the man sitting in the chair in the center of the room as he spoke up. Without turning around, he continued calmly. "We are the ones who control the Games, and so we will ensure the boy's safety from afar."

"We will make sure he wins," Father declared from his seat. "We will make certain Edward Elric is the one to survive these Games."

* * *

Ed, Winry, Mustang and Hawkeye, along with the stylists, had all gathered on their floor's lavish and medium-sized lounging area to await news of the final scores. The room had several plush chairs and couches that matched the décor of the rest of the floor. The seats were all arranged to make for easy viewing of the large projection screen stretched across the wall.

The fact that this very floor, as well as all the others, had its own screen showed just how much better off Central was than the rest of the country. These sorts of screens were rare, at least out in a small town like Resembool. The Rockbells' didn't own one, nor did most of the town, and they had to rely on the radio in their home for verbal updates on the Games. However, for the duration of the Games the large screen used in Resembool's only theater was brought out into the town's public square so people could easily go and watch when they had the chance or when they grew tired of sitting by the radio.

The projection before Edward now flickered to life and suddenly Amestris' anthem was playing from unseen speakers.

The announcer was a bubbly man, the same one who had hosted the opening ceremonies. He had no problem getting excited over the tributes and spent plenty of time rambling before he finally got on to announcing each tribute's individual score, which were each judged on a scale from one to twelve.

Not soon enough, Resembool's tributes were next. A picture of Edward came up on screen and he couldn't even take note of the way his face scowled slightly in the picture because he could feel his score was about to be read off. Ed dug his fingernails deep into the sofa's material unconsciously and his lungs pinched from a breath he didn't know he was holding. But they deflated suddenly and his grip grew limp. Ed fell back against the sofa, shocked, insulted and more than a little confused as the score echoed around in his head because a seven was not what he had been expecting.

They had given him a seven. An honest to Truth seven!

"_Are they serious?" _he asked aloud, not expecting anyone to actually answer.

After what Ed had done in there, after putting all his strength and knowledge and skill into those transmutations, he had been expecting _at least_ a ten.

Al had told him he was the best alchemist around, and Ed had believed him, but now that confidence was teetering.

Maybe he wasn't as good as he had always thought. Maybe he wasn't as strong as he thought he was. This wasn't the first time this had been proven to him; his mother's failed resurrection should have been proof enough. He was an idiot for thinking he could have ever gotten stronger.

He would never be able to protect Winry now if he was truly that weak, if he was only capable of a seven!

It wasn't the lowest score, Ed knew. On average, a lot of the other tributes had received around a five. But a seven was not much better, and those few who had received tens and elevens—because certainly no tribute had ever received a score of twelve before—would surely come after him soon enough. He would be an easy kill; just a seven, nothing more.

Edward was pulled from his brooding, self-pitying haze as his ears registered a gasp. He glanced over at Winry; her large eyes were locked on the screen like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her mouth was open and one slender hand covered it in surprised. Slowly the hand fell down to her chin and she whispered in shock, "I got a nine?"

The others in the room were applauding and congratulating Winry, and Ed realized he hadn't even heard how they had reacted to his pathetic number.

Winry turned to Ed then, a genuine smile plastered on her face. "Guess those knives were a good idea after all," she said proudly.

"Guess they were." Ed forced a smile for her. He was still distraught from his own score, but the thought of Winry doing so well did help to lift his spirits some. There was certainly more hope now that they could get her home. A score that good would certainly make his job a lot easier.

And as the night went on, Ed began to feel a little bit better about the whole thing. He was confident—proud of Winry even—that a score of a nine was a sure sign she was not giving up without a fight. She really could be the one to survive this horrid reality they had found themselves in.

Ed laid in his overly large bed that night, staring at the smooth white ceiling that was completely black in the utter darkness. He pulled the blankets tightly around himself, trying desperately to calm his thoughts and let himself fall asleep.

He couldn't stop thinking about his score, couldn't stop thinking of all the possibilities it meant.

Ed briefly wondered what Al would say if he were here now, and he wondered what Al had been thinking when he had heard Ed's score announced earlier tonight. He would probably say something uplifting in that optimistic way of his. He would probably tell Ed that he was still the greatest alchemist he knew, and that Ed would be able to show the whole world in that arena that he was worth more than the score he had been given. He just had to have faith in himself and not let a silly number define him or ruin his chances of surviving.

Ed pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked at the slit of the night sky visible through the shades, pondering.

A seven was not bad. It was above average even. But it was still nothing to be proud of, nothing that showed he had any promise. A seven meant that he wouldn't be killed first—the tributes would always go after the weakest first since they were the easiest to kill. A seven meant he wasn't amazingly skilled, but it also meant that he knew how to fight, at least in some way. But they would come after him soon enough.

For sponsors, a seven could go either way, Ed supposed. He figured most would be inclined to help the tributes with the highest numbers as they had the highest chance of winning. Though he figured some of the sponsors might take pity on those with lower scores who were struggling just to survive and send them help during the Games. Mustang had said bets were already being placed, but Ed knew the real betting wouldn't start until the Games actually begun, when the tributes finally got to show what they were really made of.

A seven, the more Ed thought about it, might just be enough to keep him under the radar. He wasn't too strong, but he wasn't too weak either. It wasn't enough to get him noticed by neither tributes nor the rest of the country. It didn't make him a threat but still made sure he was taken seriously. As he finally began to drift off into a restless sleep, Ed realized a seven might just be enough to be what saves his life.

* * *

**[A/N: Ahhhh this was an interesting chapter to write! I feel like we're actually getting to a plot now lol and im so sorry if any of that sounded ooc, I've never written for any of the homunculi or Father or Kimblee before, I don't believe, but I hope I was able to do them justice. They're all such fascinating characters and I'm looking forward to writing about them more. Especially Kimblee.  
**

**And wow, even without this long author's note, this chapter is still the longest yet! I considered breaking it up into two chapters but couldn't find a good place to cut it. Besides, it's been a while since I've updated so I think you guys deserve a longer chapter! haha**

**There are a few things I want to say before concluding this chapter. First, as I mentioned in one of my other recently updated stories, finals are done and school is out, so I am hoping that I will have more time for this story (and my others) and will be able to update more regularly.**

**A few other things: in case it wasn't clear, Ed and Al never went to Izumi for training (since I'm sort of basing this off of Panem and its citizens weren't allowed to leave their districts).**

**This also isn't important to the story now, nor will it be for quite a while, but I would just like to point it out now that Alphonse can do alchemy just by clapping; he never lost his memory. Yeah, that needed to be done for the sake of the story.**

**Also, about the radio/screens. Well, FMA _does_ take place in 1914/15, so they are nowhere near as advanced as Panem. I know it was mentioned at least once in the manga, however, that they do have movies at this time (Ed mentioned seeing something in a movie once as a kid, I remember, though I don't really recall what was being discussed) and I know they have radios in Amestris at this time as well, so I figured those would be a lot more accessible and therefore people would most likely be keeping up with the Games via radio rather than by watching it on screens.**

**I haven't talked much about the other tributes either, I realize that ;; I suppose these Games aren't quite as tribute-centric as the actual Hunger Games is; it will mostly focus on Ed and Winry's individual struggles, though there will be other tributes throughout the Games, so don't worry.**

**Okay I'll stop talking now. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll see you guys for the next one!]**


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